


Road To Rivendell, The

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, Fellowship of the Ring, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2003-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-23 08:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3761951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Journey as it might have taken place in the the movie-verse. Fanon and Original characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fog on the Barrow Downs

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Frodo blundered through the dense, opaque gray fog  
towards distant voices calling his name: "Frodo, Hoy!  
Frodo!"

Suddenly the calls changed to shrill cries of  
"Help! Help!". He tried to run towards them,  
struggling up the steep slope, frantically shouting  
his friends' names until his breath gave out. Then a  
high, horrible, unHobbitlike scream froze the blood in  
his veins and stopped him in his tracks. It was  
followed by a second scream and then a third. And  
finally, after a long terrible silence while the fog  
darkened around him, another cry of "Frodo!"

"Here! I'm coming!" weak with relief he finished  
scrambling up the steep side of the down and staggered  
towards the voices.

"Frodo! Mr. Frodo!" Sam materialized out of the  
thining fog and they fell into each others arms.

"Sam! Sam, what happened?"

Before he could answer Sam was displaced by Merry  
and Pippin, hugging their cousin in passionate relief  
and both taking at once.

Merry: "Where did you go?"

Pippin: "All of a sudden you were just gone!"

Merry: "Really Frodo you must be more careful!"

Pippin: "What if you had run into the Barrow Wights  
too?"

"Barrow Wights!" Frodo gaped. The fog had thinned  
to a few drifting whisps, the stars shone bright  
overhead giving enough light for Frodo to see a tall,  
cloaked figure looming up behind his friends. He  
gasped in horror tried to shove Pippin behind him.

"No, no, it's all right Mr. Frodo." Sam reassured  
quickly.

"I am not a Wight." the figure said with a note of  
amusement its light, clear voice.

"This is Lightfoot," Sam explained, "He rescued us."

Frodo blinked. What was one of the Big Folk doing  
out on the Downs? And what kind of name was Lightfoot?

"What brings four Hobbits out of the Shire and onto  
the Barrow Downs?" Lightfoot asked almost like an echo  
of his own thought.

"We..we were making for Bree."

"You would have done better to stay on the road."

"We weren't on the road, we were taking a short  
cut." Frodo stammered.

"That was unwise." The Man said coolly, then turned  
sharply in response to something the  
Hobbits could neither  
hear or sense. "As is staying out on the  
Downs at night, even for me." The Man unslung  
the bow he carried over his shoulder and nocked an  
arrow. "This way."  
****

The shelter the Man brought them to looked  
uncomfortably like a barrow; walled with great stones  
and roofed with a mound of turf.

Lightfoot lit a lamp on a stand by the door, then  
crossed the long, stone floored oval room to light a  
second on a cupboard at the far end. six cots, three  
to a side, stood with their heads to the wall and  
piles of neatly folded blankets at their feet. They  
looked enormously long, nearly long enough for two  
Hobbits lying head to foot. Wood was stacked next to a  
raised slab between two stone plinths supporting the  
roof with fuel for a fire laid ready upon it.  
Lightfoot lit this too and turned to face his guests,  
still huddled by the door.

"Come in."

The Hobbits, moving as a clump, took a few  
uncertain steps farther into the room.

"Is-isn't this a barrow?" Pippin quavered.

"It was meant to be one," Lightfoot agreed  
calmly, "but abandoned unfinished for some reason. My  
people have used it as a guard post since the days of  
the Witch Wars. Then he put back his hood  
and four chins dropped. Their rescuer was not a Man at  
all, but a Woman!

She had long black hair plaited and coiled around  
her head, and might have been almost pretty if she'd  
only wash her face and look a bit less grim.  
She took off her cloak and threw it across  
one of the cots, revealing a long coat of  
worn dark green leather with a sword belted over it.  
She did that off as well and laid it  
on top of her cloak.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

A question Hobbits rarely answer with a no and one  
well calculated to raise their spirits. There was a  
table and several stools between the hearth and the  
cupboard, as oversized as the cots and clearly made  
for very Big People indeed. The food was rather  
disappointing; rolls of dried meat, flat hard bread,  
and dried apples and pears. But there was also a  
cordial that Lighfoot poured from a leather flask, gold  
colored and tasting of honey and apricot that filled  
the Hobbits with warmth from top to toe and wiped away  
their fears.

Frodo even felt brave enough to ask about the  
Barrow Wights. "In the Shire it is said they are the  
ghosts of the ancient folk buried in the mounds."

The Woman's eyes flashed alarmingly but her voice  
was clear and calm as she answered. "That is not true.  
These are the graves of my ancestors. Some are from  
the time of the Kings but others are far older, from  
the Elder Days before Men entered Beleriand to join  
the High Elves in their war against the Great Enemy.  
The Souls of those buried in them have long since  
passed into the West and beyond the Circles of the  
World.

"The Wights are evil spirits out of the Witch  
Kingdom who cloth themselves in the bones and garments  
of the ancient dead. My kinsmen and I avenge that  
descecration when we may, but there are many other  
dangers in the Wild these days now Sauron has  
returned."

Frodo swallowed. "So we have heard. We were warned  
to stay off the road."

"No doubt your advisor had good reason for his  
words, but friends as well as enemies watch the roads  
out of the Shire. In any case I doubt he meant for you  
to try to cross the Barrow Downs so close to  
nightfall."

All four Hobbits blushed. "We fell asleep," Merry  
admitted shamefacedly, "when we stopped for lunch, and  
didn't wake til near sundown."

Lightfoot nodded as if that was to be expected. "It  
is best not to stop or rest in the Downs unless in  
some protected place like this. Even in daylight they  
are not truly safe."

"If I might ask, ma'am, what were *you* doing out  
here all alone if it's so dangerous?" Sam reddened to  
the ears as she looked his way but met her eyes stoutly.

"The Downs lie on my path homeward." she answered  
mildly, apparently unoffended. "And I am armed and on  
my guard against Wightish spells." she stood up. "Try  
to get some sleep. As I said this place is defended,  
the Wights cannot enter here."

"Like Tom Bombadil's house." said Merry.

Lightfoot shook her head. "Not so strongly  
protected as that - but sufficient for Wights and  
their like." (1) she turned towards the lamp on the  
cupboard.

"Don't blow it out!" Merry, Pippin and Sam cried  
all together.

She smiled at them, quite gently. "I wasn't going  
to." her eyes turned to Frodo. "Light and fire are the  
best defense against wraiths."

Like Black Riders? Suddenly he was sure Lightfoot  
knew more about them than she was letting on - maybe  
even everything. His hand went involuntarily to the  
pocket holding the Ring but he felt no desire to bring  
it out - quite the opposit. Almost as if the Ring  
didn't want Lightfoot to see it.  
******

1\. The 'protection' on the Ranger Shelter needs a stong  
and practiced will behind it to be most effective,  
just as defensive walls need warriors behind them to  
repel foes. If the Hobbits were alone they would not  
be safe even in the shelter.  



	2. Out of the Downs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Journey as it might have taken place in the the movie-verse. Fanon and Original characters.

Frodo woke on the too large cot to find the fire  
had gone out but the lamps were still burning though  
the door now stood open with the pale morning sunlight  
spilling in.

Disintangling himself from a cocoon of blankets he  
padded to the door and looked outside. Lightfoot was  
sitting on a fallen megalith combing her long black  
hair.

"Good morning."

"Good morning." he glanced upward at the grey  
clouds scudding across the sky. "Looks like rain."

"Not till later." the Woman answered. "You may be  
able to make Bree first." pointed. "The road is about  
five miles that way and Bree some twelve miles beyond  
that." glanced sidelong at the Hobbit. "I know you  
were told to stay off the road but I wouldn't advise  
wandering far from it. The Wild holds many dangers but  
the road is guarded."

By whom? Frodo wondered.  
***

A couple of hours walk from the shelter brought  
them to the narrow valley where the Hobbits had been  
ambushed by Wights. The only trace of the night's  
struggle was three mounds of bone and shredded white  
cloth, each transfixed by a black arrow.

Lightfoot calmly collected her arrows then knelt down  
to cut a large square in the turf with her knife and  
peel back the grass. She gathered up the bones  
and piled them on the bare earth. Then took a  
large glass or crystal from her coak and used it to  
focus the sun's rays and set the bones and their cloth  
tinder alight.

"Sunfire cleanses." she explained to the watching  
Hobbits. Then staring into the leaping flames, pale  
and translucent in the daylight, she softly chanted  
a few staves in a language Frodo recognized - though  
he could understand no more than a word or two.

Bilbo had taught him the common Elvish and a few  
phrases of High Elvish. The latter tongue was seldom  
spoken on this side of the sundering sea yet it was  
the language of Lightfoot's song, Frodo was sure of  
it. What kind of Woman was this? certainly no wife or  
maiden of Bree!

Turning away from the fire she led them almost due  
north and would allow no halt until they had passed  
through a dike and hedge defining the limits of the  
Downs. Only then did she let the weary and footsore  
Hobbits light a fire and cook themselves a combined  
lunch and tea.

"Are the dike and hedge to keep the Barrow Wights  
in?" Merry asked through a mouthful of bread and  
sausage.

"No. Long ago they marked the border between the  
Kingdoms of Cardolan and Arthedain." Lightfoot smiled  
grimly. "Wights cannot be contained by so simple a  
means."

The Hobbits shivered and asked no more questions.  
***

The sun was invisible behind a veil of rain heavy  
clouds but Frodo guessed it was well after noon by the  
time they reached the road.

"Well, here we are at last." he said. "I don't suppose  
we can have lost any more than a day or two by my  
'shortcut'!"

"It may have served to put your pursuers off the  
trail." Lightfoot pointed out and Frodo looked at her  
sharply.

They been careful to say nothing about the Black  
Riders but clearly she knew about them. And how much  
else?

"The trees alongside the road will give you cover."  
she continued. "Better hurry while the light lasts."

"You're not going to Bree?" Pippin asked.

"No. My home lies farther east and north of here."

Frodo bowed. "We thank you, Lady, for all your  
help."

"You are very welcome." she replied briskly. "Now  
be off with you! some one in Bree may be anxious."

Yes, Gandalf. Frodo couldn't wait to see him. He'd  
know what to do next - and maybe even who or what  
Lightfoot was.

The Woman watched the four Hobbits slip silently  
away through the trees screening the road. They did  
not look back and so did not see the tall Man, cloaked  
and hooded in green, materialize seemingly out of  
nowhere, to stand beside her.

"Where did you find them?"

"In the Downs, about to be captured by Wights." she  
gave him a slanting, sidelong glance. "It was  
fortunate I happened upon them in time."

His return look held both tightly leashed annoyance  
and resignation. As if she'd scored a point in some  
long standing argument.

"Any word of Gandalf?" Lightfoot asked, concern  
showing.

Her companion shook his head grimly. "No. I will  
take them to Rivendell, our Uncle will know what to  
do."

"The Nine are abroad. Be wary, Aragorn."

"I will. Go home to your children, Aranel." He  
melted back into the shadows under the trees,  
following the Hobbits.

Turning Lightfoot crossed the road and struck  
northeast into the Wilds on the other side.


	3. Into The Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Journey as it might have taken place in the the movie-verse. Fanon and Original characters.

Merry didn't think much of Frodo's decision to  
trust this Strider, even if he had saved them from  
the Riders. "Just because he says he's a friend  
of Gandalf's and wears the same kind of clothes as  
Lightfoot doesn't mean it's safe to trust him!" his  
cousin had pointed out acerbicly.

But to Frodo's eye the likeness went deeper than  
the worn green leathers. Under the tangled hair and  
scruffy beard were the same elegant bones, and eyes  
bright with that same Elvish light. Frodo thought he  
knew what, if not who, this strange Man and Woman had  
to be. And if he was right not only was Strider to be  
trusted, but with Gandalf gone he was the best  
protector they could have. In any case they had no  
choice.

They saw no trace of the Black Riders after leaving  
Bree, apparently Strider had succeeded in shaking them  
off, though the punishing pace he demanded was  
begining to tell on all four Hobbits.

Once through the Midgewater Marshes the Man turned  
north, following a small stream into stony highlands  
he called the Weather Hills. It was growing dark when  
the winding ravine they were following suddenly  
widened into a valley surounded by high hills and half  
filled by a shallow lake of grey water.

Floating upon the mere was a rambling house built  
of fieldstone and half-timbering with yellow  
candlelight showing at its many windows, reached from  
the shore by a bridge of wood and rope. At once a  
homely and astonishing sight here in the Wild.

"That's never Rivendell!" Pippin blurted.

Strider, for the first time in their experience of  
him, laughed out loud. "No, Master Took, this is a  
Ranger Holding belonging to some kinfolk of mine. We  
will rest under a safe roof tonight."

He led them briskly across the swaying bridge, the  
Hobbits holding tightly to the rope railings. The  
great wooden door opened opened for them without a  
knock.

They found themselves in a windowless, cobble  
floored room with a ladderlike stair in one corner and  
a second massive wooden door standing open, opposite  
the first. Turning Frodo saw the outer door being  
closed by a Man as tall and dark as Strider and  
dressed in the same travel worn green, then followed  
their guide into a torchlit courtyard.

A Woman stood at the foot of a flight of steps  
wearing a soft grey gown, long black hair fluttering  
in the evening breeze.

"Lightfoot!" Frodo exclaimed, somehow not entirely  
surprised.

She smiled slightly. "Welcome to Greymere, Frodo  
Baggins.

Lightfoot led them up the stair and through an  
anteroom into a spacious chamber its whitewashed walls  
hung with tapestries, lit by bronze lamps on wall  
brackets and a many candled chandelier suspended from  
the high raftered ceiling. Mullioned windows looked  
out over the lake, high backed settles bright with  
cushions faced each other in front of the large  
fireplace and a woman and two children were setting a  
long table with earthenware and pewter.

The little girl, a pretty golden haired creature,  
gave a delighted cry dropped the spoons she was  
holding onto the table and rushed to Strider's arms,  
followed more sedately by a serious, dark haired boy,  
about as tall as the Hobbits and enough like Strider  
to be close kin.

"Here now," the Man said laughing, "where are your  
manners? Mind your guests."

"My son Shade and my daughter Laughter." Lightfoot  
introduced. Bright eyes, grey and blue, turned to the  
Hobbits. "Master Baggins, Master Took, Master  
Brandybuck and Master Gamgee."

The boy bowed. "At your service." and his sister  
bobbed a curtsy.

"And this is my foster sister Lark." Lightfoot  
finished indicating the smiling brown haired woman.

"My you Rangers do have odd names." Pippin  
commented and got squelching looks from his three  
companions.

But Lightfoot laughed. "We do indeed." (1)  
*****************************************

1\. Lightfoot is giving the Hobbits the Westron forms of  
her family's Sindarin names. Lark is Lirulin; Shade,  
Daeron and his sister is Lalaith.

 


	4. Greymere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Journey as it might have taken place in the the movie-verse. Fanon and Original characters.

Aragorn left the weary Hobbits to sup in private  
with the children and followed Aranel down a winding  
stair to the Hall. She stopped suddenly, halfway, and  
turned to face him.

"Frodo left just in time." she said quietly. "That  
same day the Nine attacked the guard on Sarn Ford.  
They held them as long as the light lasted but at  
nightfall three managed to break through. Aravorn is  
dead."

His eyes closed in pain, it was a moment before he  
could ask; "The boys?"

"Safe for now. Ingloron sent them home to Angwen,  
but they are unlikely to stay there long, nor will she  
try to hold them." (1)

Aragorn's eyes opened, glinting dangerously. "You  
did not see fit to tell me this when we met on the  
road?"

"You had more urgent concerns, and all that could  
be done had been done." she answered calmly.

After a moment he nodded. "That is true.  
Very well, I will write to Arahael and remind him of  
his duty to his House and his Wardship. I will not  
have those boys getting themselves killed doing  
something foolish."

"And we both know just how foolish the Isildurioni  
can be." she agreed drily.

A small door at the foot of the stair opened onto  
the broad dais at the head of the Great Hall of  
Greymere. Three banners, black, white and grey, hung  
above the fireplace behind the high table; the Black  
Sword of the House of Turin between the Star of  
Elendil and the New Moon of Isildur.

Several Men were already standing behind the chairs  
of the high table and scores of others milled, talking  
quietly among themselves in the lower Hall. All fell  
silent at Aragorn's appearance, standing until he had  
seated himself in the great chair at the center of the  
high table.

A page brought the most recent scouts to Aragorn  
and they answered his questions as they ate. The news  
was not good; the Nine were searching the road and the  
land near it with the stubborn, mindless persistance  
of wraiths. At least they were scattered. He could  
handle three or four of them but no one, Man or Elf or  
Half-Elven, could stand against all the Nine at once.  
Nor had there been any word at all of Gandalf. Aragorn  
was begining to fear the worst - though it was  
difficult to believe one so ancient and cunning and  
powerful could finally have been overmatched.

Looking down the Hall he saw an unusual number of  
Women, boys and old Men at the long tables and glanced  
questioningly at Aranel, seated at his right hand.

"From the outlying holdings." She explained  
quietly.

"The line is collapsing, Dunadan." a worn, grey  
haired Captain put in, "Everything north of Fornost  
has fallen and only the One above All knows how long  
we will be able to hold the road."

"But it is secure for now." Aranel continued. "You  
will have to go back to it, Aragorn, dispite the  
danger from the Ringwraiths."

After a moment Aragorn nodded. "I fear you are  
right. Aranel, have you any short swords in your  
armory? I cannot be everywhere, the Halflings may have  
to defend themselves."  
***

The Ringbearer was sitting alone in the solar, now  
lit only by a candle or two, when Strider came up to  
check on his charges.

"Frodo?"

The Hobbit looked at him steadily with those wide  
blue eyes, raised a hand and pointed at the square of  
tapesty over the fireplace. "That's Turin," he said.  
"And the dragon Glaurung that he killed, and his  
sister Nienor." turned to the long panel of emboidery  
on the wall opposite the windows. "And that is the  
Tale of Luthien and Beren."

After a moment Strider's wary, closed expression  
softened into something like a smile. "Bilbo taught  
you well."

Frodo caught his breath. "You know Bilbo?"

A nod. "He is known to many outside the Shire."

"Especially Elves, and Elf-friends." Frodo slid off  
the oversized chair and came a few steps closer to the  
Man. "I know who you are," he caught a flicker of  
something - alarm? - in Strider's face. "you're the  
Kings' People. They didn't all die in the old wars  
after all."

The Man did not deny it. "Those wars never ended,  
Frodo, this will be the last battle - and I'm afraid  
you and your friends are caught right in the middle of  
it." he knelt down so the Hobbit could look him in the  
eye without craning. "My people tell me the Wild has  
grown too perilous we must chance the road."

"But - what about the Black Riders?"

"That is a risk we must take. With care and good  
fortune we may elude them."

Frodo swallowed. "All right." then. "What is your  
real name?"

Strider seemed to hesitate an instant, then  
suddenly he smiled. "I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, at  
your service, Ringbearer."

"At yours and your family's." Frodo responded  
automatically but with the uneasy feeling that Strider  
\- Aragorn's - words were not just the customary  
formula but a vow.  
**********************************************

1\. Aravorn was Warden of the South Downs a descendant of of the Line of Isildur, through an earlier Chieftain. His wife, Angwen, is a much closer relative to Aragorn being the granddaughter of his Aunt Ellian. Arahael is their elder son, the younger is named Arahad.

Ingloron is Aranel's husband, Warden of the Weather Hills and head of the House of Turin, a lineage even more ancient than that of the Kings.

Aranel herself is not only double first cousin to Aragorn, being the daughter of his father's brother and mother's sister, but his foster daughter. Her parents were killed when she was ten and as next of kin and Chieftain Aragorn became both her guardian and her elder brother's.  



	5. Many Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Journey as it might have taken place in the the movie-verse. Fanon and Original characters.

Frodo followed Bilbo rather timidly into the  
pillared banquet hall of Rivendell. One side of the  
great room was open to the starry sky and scented  
breezes. And it was crowded with Elves, tall and fair,  
clad in flowing richly hued robes who parted with  
bows and smiles to make way for the two Hobbits.

Frodo spotted Merry, Pippin and Sam all sitting  
together and started towards them only to be  
tugged back by Bilbo.

"No, my boy, we belong up there." his uncle pointed  
with his cane to the high table on the dais at the  
head of the hall.

Oh dear, he was hardly dressed for such company.  
Elrond was already seated in his great chair at the  
center of the table, a beautiful Elven lady with black  
hair rippling over glistening white robes beside him.

To Frodo's confusion the lady started to her feet  
with a glad cry and swept around the table to kiss and  
embrace him. "I am glad to see you well and sound,  
Frodo, you frightened me badly at the end."

"I - uh.." face lambent he could only stammer.

She smiled. "You don't remember me?"

Then it came back to him, fragmentary images out of  
troubled dreams. "You're Arwen, you took me on your  
horse." his eyes widened with remembered horror. "The  
Riders almost caught us!"

"But they did not." She kissed him again, on the  
forhead. "All is well now."

"Lady Arwen is Lord Elrond's daughter." Bilbo told  
him casually. "And you did look more than three  
quarters dead when she brought you in. Frightened me  
half out of my wits, my boy."

"Come sit beside me." Arwen invited and he could  
hardly refuse though he felt very out of place in the  
tall chair at her right hand. He had a golden haired  
Elf on his other side and Bilbo in the chair opposite.

But no sooner had he taken his seat than Bilbo was  
out of it, delightedly pumping the hand of a heavily  
bearded Dwarf. "My dear Gloin! what brings you to  
Rivendell?"

"King Dain had messages for Lord Elrond, and I  
wasn't about to miss a chance to visit my old  
companion." the Dwarf smiled. "How are you Bilbo?"

"Oh, well enough, well enough, feeling my age a bit  
but then I've a right to don't I? And who would this  
be?" he continued, beaming at a younger Dwarf standing  
behind Gloin, "as if I couldn't guess!"

"My son Gimli." Gloin confirmed. "He is very eager  
to meet the famous Burglar Baggins."

"At your service, Master Baggins." the younger  
Dwarf bowed. "And I mean that. I owe you my father's  
life several times over, thank you."

"Oh I'd say we're about even in that department."  
Bilbo replied. "Sit down, my friends, sit down." the  
two Dwarves took the chairs on either side of the old  
Hobbit. "My nephew Frodo," he introduced, "and this  
next to him is Legolas, son of our old friend the  
Elven King of Mirkwood."

"Friend?" Gloin asked, bushy eyebrows rising.

"Yes friend! Remember the Battle of Five Armies? As  
for our earlier misunderstandings - well the fault  
wasn't all on his side you know."

The two Dwarves clearly didn't quite agree, but  
nodded politely enough to the Elf next to Frodo, who  
made them a slight bow in return.

Gloin and Bilbo were soon lost in mutual reminisces  
with Gimli listening interestedly. But Frodo was  
quickly distracted by the fixed and rather unnerving gaze  
of a very tall fair haired Man seated next to Gloin.

Their eyes met and the Man rose and bowed. "Forgive  
me, Little Master, my people have fireside tales of  
Halflings but I never thought to see one."

"We don't often leave the bounds of our own country."  
Frodo replied. "Frodo Baggins of the Shire, at your  
service."

"Boromir son of Denethor of Gondor, at yours and  
your family's."

"Gondor, eh?" Bilbo peered curiously around Gloin.  
"And what brings you so far north, Master Boromir? Or  
shouldn't I ask?"

The Man smiled wryly. "A dream brings me." he  
shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Normally I do not  
heed such things but this was unlike any I've had  
before, and it came to my brother as well." He  
hesitated, seemingly lost in troubled thought.

"And what was this dream?" Bilbo asked bright eyed  
with interest.

"I saw the eastern sky grow dark," Boromir said  
softly, "but in the west, a pale light lingered. And a  
voice was crying: 'Your doom is at hand; Isildur's  
Bane is found!'"

Frodo was suddenly acutely aware of the weight of  
the ring, lying cool against his skin under his shirt.  
  
"And that brought you to Rivendell?" Bilbo  
prompted.

"Yes. The Lord Elrond is the only one now living  
who remembers the Last Battle at the foot of Orodruin.  
If anyone can interpret the dream it is he."

"What is this 'Isildur's Bane'?" Gimli wanted to  
know.

"The One Ring, the Enemy's chief weapon." Boromir  
answered. "Isildur took it as a prize of war but it  
betrayed him to his death. It has been lost all this  
Age of the World but if Sauron has found it...." the  
Man shook his head, eyes haunted. "Then our doom is  
indeed at hand."

Gloin was looking at Bilbo, with horror and  
surmise. He knew about the Hobbit's magic ring and  
Frodo realized he had guessed the truth. "Sauron has  
not got it yet," the Dwarf said, "but he is seeking  
it. His messengers have come to Dale and the Mountain  
asking questions. King Dain and King Brand sent us to  
ask Elrond's advice."

"We are troubled in Mirkwood as well" the Elf  
Legolas said suddenly. "Sauron sends us no emissaries  
but his creatures haunt the forest, Orcs and the Great  
Spiders."

Both Gloin and Bilbo shuddered, they remembered the  
Spiders.

"It would seem all lands have felt the Dark Hand."  
Boromir looked questioningly at Frodo. "Including your  
Shire?"

He could only nod and look to Bilbo for help. But  
his uncle wouldn't meet his eye, staring past him face  
set and grim.

"All lands have been troubled." Elrond said quietly  
from his place beyond Arwen, "And by fate or fortune  
all have been moved to send emissaries here to  
Rivendell. Tomorrow we will meet in council and your  
questions will be answered - but tonight let us  
forget our troubles and fears, and enjoy the company  
of old friends," with a smile at Bilbo and Gloin, "and  
new ones."  
***  
  
After the meal the assembled company left the  
banquet hall, crossing a courtyard to a second, even  
larger hall open to the night on all sides with a  
bright fire burning on the hearth at the center of the  
sunken floor. A number of Elven musicians began to  
play and sing.

"I can't believe it," Gloin muttered to Bilbo under  
cover of the music. "That little ring of yours that we  
handled so carelessly!"

"How do you think *I* feel?" the old Hobbit  
answered as softly. "Just popping it on any time I  
wanted to hide from unwelcome callers! If I'd only  
known -"

"Well you didn't." that was Gandalf, suddenly  
appearing behind them. "And there was no reason why  
you should have. I on the other hand -" he stopped,  
sighed. "Well there's no use repining. Come, Gloin, I  
want to hear about these messengers from Mordor."

Wizard and Dwarves moved quietly away leaving Frodo  
alone with his uncle. Bilbo shook himself and smiled  
determinedly at his nephew. "Gandalf's right as usual,  
what's done is done. The Ring's safe here in Rivendell  
and all these great folk will know what to do about  
it."

Frodo nodded agreement. As Sam'd said, they'd done  
their bit. Well almost, he still had to turn over the  
Ring to - well whoever was to take charge of it.  
Presumably that's what the council tomorrow would  
decide.

His eye wandered over the assembly and caught a  
familiar/unfamiliar figure standing between two  
pillars. Strider, looking astonishingly presentable in  
grey velvet glimmering with silver. Frodo nearly stood  
up and called but caught himself in time. It wasn't  
necessary anyway. Strider had seen him and came down  
to join the two Hobbits.

"Where have you been?" Frodo demanded softly, so as  
not to interupt the music. "I was begining to think  
you'd gone off without even a good-bye."

The Ranger sat cross-legged on the floor next to their  
stools and smiled at him. "I had business to attend  
to."

Bilbo snorted. "You mean you've been hiding from  
that Man Boromir." gave him a stern look. "You're  
going to have to face him sometime, Lord Elrond will  
see to that."

Strider shook his head. "The Ring must be our chief  
concern. This is not the time for side issues."

"Side issues? My dear Estel you are not a 'side  
issue'!"

"Estel?" Frodo interupted, "I thought your name was  
Aragorn?"

"So it is." Bilbo answered. "Estel is what they  
called him as a boy, which is when I first met him  
on my way to the Lonely Mountain. Just a bit of a  
lad no taller than you he was."

Frodo blinked. Bilbo's great adventure had been  
over sixty years ago. If Strider been a boy back then  
he must be at least seventy now.

"I'm older than I look." Strider smiled, correctly  
interpreting Frodo's startled glance.

"He's Numenorean, my boy." Bilbo explained. "They  
live a very long time - and they don't show their age  
until near the end - and Estel is still a century or so  
away from that."

"Will you be at the council tomorrow?" Frodo asked.

Strider nodded. "I'll be there," glanced sidelong  
at Bilbo, "as will Boromir of Gondor, a Man of the  
Beornings, another from Dale, your Dwarf friends, my  
friend Legolas and Galdor from the Havens. All the  
Free Peoples will be represented, including Hobbits."

"Just Frodo." said Bilbo, adding as his nephew  
looked at him in surprise: "I'm sorry, my boy, but I'm  
sure to doze off and we wouldn't want that. Not in  
front of all those grand people." he struggled to his  
feet with the help of his stick and Strider's hand.  
"In fact I think I'll be off to bed before I fall  
asleep right here."

"I'll go with you." Frodo said quickly.

"No, no, my boy, stay and enjoy yourself."

"Really I'd rather. It's been a long day, Bilbo."

"And his first day up." the Man agreed.

"Oh very well, if that's what you want."

"Good night." said Strider.

Turning to go Bilbo shot a mischievious look over  
his shoulder at him. "By the way, Arwen's been trying  
to catch your eye for the last five minutes. Don't  
keep the lady waiting." and led Frodo off chuckling to  
himself.

His nephew didn't quite see the joke. Nor did he  
understand when Bilbo sighed and said quietly. "Being  
who he is that boy's bound to have a hard life, but  
sometimes he seems to go out of his way to make it  
harder."

Frodo decided not to ask. He'd had enough of  
mysteries and other people's problems for one night.  



	6. After the Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Journey as it might have taken place in the the movie-verse. Fanon and Original characters.

Frodo sat in the garden below his room and stared  
at the golden circle resting in the open palm of his  
hand. 'Why did I do it?' he asked himself. Whatever  
possessed him to volunteer to take the Ring to the  
fire?

The answer was simple: He'd done it because he had  
to. Everybody'd been shouting, it was clear none of  
the great people could trust themselves or each other  
with the Ring. It *had* to be somebody small and  
unimportant, somebody it couldn't tempt. Him.

So now he was committed, and Sam and Merry and  
Pippin too. Well at least they'd have Gandalf to look  
after them - and Strider.

Now that had been a shock all right. His lips  
quirked wryly, remembering: "He is Aragorn son of  
Arathorn, you owe him your allegiance." Legolas had  
told Boromir. Which made no sense at all until Boromir  
said, "This is Isildur's Heir?". Frodo had stared. Not  
just one of the King's People but the King himself.

He'd understood Boromir's bitterness perfectly. If  
there was still a King why wasn't he *doing*  
something? why didn't he make things right? But of  
course Aragorn *was* doing something - he'd seen four  
feckless Hobbits and the Ring safely to Rivendell and  
now he was going to take them into Mordor itself.

"If by my life or death I can protect you I will."  
he'd said and then he'd knelt down before Frodo and  
pledged his sword to a Hobbit of the Shire. Having  
never had anybody, much less a King, swear fealty to  
him before Frodo hadn't had the faintest idea what to  
say or do. Luckily Aragorn hadn't seemed to expect  
anything from him. He'd just smiled and gotten up, to  
Frodo's intense relief, and stood beside him with a  
reassuring hand on his shoulder. None of the others  
had knelt, thank goodness, but now he had Legolas'  
Elven Bow, Gimli's Dwarf axe and Boromir's sword to  
protect him too - or rather the Ring. Together with  
Gandalf's magic that should be enough, at least he  
hoped so.

"Frodo?"

He glanced up to see Strider - Aragorn - the King  
looking down at him with a small frown of concern  
crinkling his brow. Frodo slid off the garden bench  
and held out the Ring. "By rights this is yours not  
mine."

Aragorn shook his head. "By right it should not  
even exist." gently. "Frodo, if I could I would take  
this burden from you but I dare not. Isildur was a  
great Man yet the Ring overcame him, I would prove no  
stronger."

"I know." resignedly Frodo strung the Ring back on  
its chain and fastened it around his neck. "It has to  
be me." looked up at the Man a little shyly. "I don't  
know what to call you."

"Aragorn will do very well. It is my name."  
***

"It should be me, not Frodo." Bilbo argued,  
stumping restlessly around his nephew's room. "I found  
the thing, it's my responsibility. Why did you make me  
leave it to him?" he demanded of Gandalf. "I could  
have brought it here to Rivendell seven years ago and  
saved the boy all this trouble and danger."

"The Ring had already done you great harm." Gandalf  
replied patiently. "For your sake it was best it  
passed on."

"So it can hurt Frodo too? No! I won't have it."  
Bilbo stopped in front of the wizard, glared defiantly  
up at him. "If the harm's already done then what more  
do I have to fear?"

"Bilbo," Gandalf laid his hands on the outraged old  
Hobbit's shoulders. "nobody doubts your courage or  
your willingness but this task is beyond your  
strength. You must leave it to Frodo."

Bilbo continued to glare into the Wizard's eyes for  
a moment, blinked, then finally sighed. "You're right  
of course. I'm just a feeble old Hobbit. I'd be lucky  
to make it to the Misty Mountains, much less Mordor."

"I'll be all right, Bilbo." Frodo said reassuringly,  
"I have Gandalf, and Aragorn and Sam to look after  
me don't I?" with a quick smile at the last, ruefully  
returned.

Bilbo sat himself down on one of the small chairs  
that had been brought down from the old Nursery for  
the Hobbits' use. "Yes, but who's going to look after  
Merry and Pippin?"

"Boromir?" Aragorn suggested mildly.

Frodo looked at him worriedly. "Is he going to be a  
problem? I mean the two of you didn't exactly hit it  
off did you?"

"I will talk to him." Aragorn promised.  
***

"The Council of Gondor rejected the claims of  
Isildur's Heirs," he told Boromir, some hours later.  
"I will not contest that judgement. I have no mind for  
strife with any but our common Enemy."

He had finally tracked the other Man down in the  
upper gallery of Elrond's library, studying the  
painted history of Men and Elves lining its  
walls.

"My father is Steward of the Line of Anarion,"  
Boromir answered defensively. "It is to them that he  
and I owe allegiance."

"My House represents that Line too, through Firiel  
daughter of Ondoher." Aragorn pointed out drily,  
before catching himself up. "But I have no wish to  
rehash old arguments. My concern is the Kingdom of the  
North, or what is left of it, as Gondor is yours. The  
Enemy in the East is our common foe, we have no  
quarrel with one another."

"I understand." Boromir said slowly.

Relieved Aragorn changed the subject. "The Hobbits  
are brave but inexperienced, they will need watching,  
guarding. Especially the two younger ones."

"On such a mission - quest - thing." Boromir  
agreed, lips curving in amusement.

Aragorn nodded, also smiling. "Exactly." the smile  
faded. "They have no idea what they are facing."

"I gathered as much." Boromir said quietly. "I will  
be glad to do what I can for them. Merry and Pippin is  
it?"

"So they are called. Meriadoc Brandybuck and  
Peregrine Took are their full names. They have not  
been trained in arms, unfortunately, such is not  
Hobbit custom."

"Then they had better learn. I have some experience  
as a teacher."

"Good." Aragorn nodded politely and walked away,  
satisfied he and the Man from Gondor understood each  
other.

Boromir watched him go troubled by confused  
emotions. It would seem the long lost King had no  
interest at all in his Southern Kingdom. That should  
have pleased him, yet somehow it did not. Instead he  
felt like a child abandoned by its parents to live or  
die in the Wild.  
***

Dwarves have tenacious memories, never forgeting a  
wrong or a benefit. And they always pay their debts.  
The old Hobbit could say what he liked but Gimli knew  
his father, his uncle and his other kinsmen would have  
died long before reaching the Lonely Mountain if not  
for their Master Burglar. The Dwarves of Erebor owed  
their restored Kingdom to Bilbo Baggins. Now his  
nephew and heir had taken an even greater quest upon  
himself and Gimli son of Gloin intended to go with him  
every step of the way, even into the fires of Mordor  
itself, to repay the debt owed the uncle.

And for the nephew's sake as well. Gimli liked what  
he'd seen of the youngster, he'd obviously inherited  
Bilbo's courage as well as his Ring. And thanks to his  
father's stories Gimli knew better than to judge the  
young Hobbits by their seeming softness. They had old  
Bilbo's blood in their veins, his strength and cunning  
would be there when they needed it. And in the  
meantime their older, more experienced companions  
would look out for them.

It was a pity they couldn't leave sooner, the Dwarf  
looked disapprovingly at the airy open halls and  
terraced gardens around him. Insubstantial, flimsy  
sort of place this Rivendell with no proper walls and  
trees growing right inside the rooms. Not at all to  
Dwarvish tastes. Still he could stand it for a month  
or two if he had too.

And he did. The Dunadan was quite right to want  
their route thoroughly scouted before they set out. It  
seemed the Rangers were as hard pressed as everybody  
else, with evils left by Angmar creeping out of their  
hiding places to haunt the Wild.

His father Gloin had been quick to remind Aragorn  
the Dwarf Halls of the Blue Mountains and Erebor  
itself were open to his people should they need  
refuge. Long ago the Dunedain had sheltered Durin's  
folk, driven from Moria by Durin's Bane, and the  
Dwarves did not forget it.

The bell rang for the noon meal and Gimli turned  
his wandering steps towards the Great Hall, stumping  
stolidly up the winding paths and several flights of  
stone steps.  
  
The Wood-elf, Legolas, appeared walking along an  
intersecting path also on his way to the Hall. Gimli  
was none to enthusiastic about this companion. Still,  
that bow of his might be of some use. He gave the Elf  
a stiff little nod of greeting.

The Elf nodded back and they continued on in silent  
company. It wouldn't be so bad. Gimli assured himself,  
he'd be civil as long as the Elf was - and with seven  
other companions they needn't have much to do with  
each other.  
***

If the Dwarf could be civil so could he, Legolas  
told himself. Just be distantly polite and keep  
conversation to a minimum. That axe of his should  
prove useful anyway, Legolas was familiar enough with  
the roads east to have some idea of the perils they  
would face.

Once again Aragorn had turned away from his  
destiny, quixotically offering his sword to the  
Ringbearer. Yet Legolas had seen Gandalf and Elrond  
exchange a near wink, as if very well pleased by their  
protege's decision. The ways of Wizards are subtle and  
tortuous, and Elrond's great age and Mortal blood made  
him almost as inscrutable.

It was concern for Aragorn, as well as admiration  
for the Halfling's courage that moved Legolas to join  
their company. If Isildur's Heir was to travel through  
the Kingdom that denied him and into the territory of  
his bitterest foe he would need a friend at his back.

As for the Ringbearer himself, Legolas' father  
Thranduil had been most impressed by Bilbo Baggins. If  
Frodo was anything at all like his uncle that  
seemingly gentle exterior concealed unsuspected  
resources of courage and cunning. He would need those  
qualities badly, and all the help his companions could  
give him.


End file.
